What Other Motive?
by HollyJeen
Summary: Anthony DiNozzo Senior has always expected to get what he wants, no matter the cost. His son is just so much collateral damage. A follow-up to "Flesh and Bone."


What Other Motive?

_Author's note: If you haven't read any of my other works, just a quick warning – I don't really do much plot or dialog. I like to do introspections, so there's not much going on except thoughts. This one is about Anthony DiNozzo, Senior and is just one interpretation of Tony's father from the episode "Flesh and Bone."_

"**That he delights in the misery of others no man will confess, and yet what other motive can make a father cruel?"**

~Joseph Addison

Anthony DiNozzo, Senior observed his son's entrance into the hotel from a small alcove tucked beside the bar. His eyes narrowed as he took in the handsome face, determined gait and graceful economy of motion. They narrowed further when two _very_ attractive women turned around to watch him go by, giving each other a big grin and eye waggle to boot.

"Damn brat," he thought uncharitably. "Some things never change."

Anthony DiNozzo, Junior had always – from the time he was a toothless, grinning baby with those brilliant emerald eyes – effortlessly turned heads and charmed those around him. It was so much more than stunning good looks, though DiNozzo, Sr. couldn't help but boast a little that his son definitely inherited _his _genes. No, there was just something about Junior, some indescribable spark that drew people to him like moths to a flame.

Once that grinning baby had turned into a precocious toddler, he had everyone in the DiNozzo household wrapped around his little finger. It seemed as if every time he opened his mouth to speak – which, Senior acknowledged with a grimace, was _all _the time – he would have an adoring audience. That his wife was the undisputed leader of the Anthony DiNozzo, Junior fan club irked Senior to no end. She was _his _wife, damn it. Senior deserved her devotion. He should have been the focus of her single-minded love, not their offspring. Magdalena DiNozzo was the great love of his life, and he had never gotten over the cold realization that Anthony DiNozzo, _Senior_ was not the love of hers.

That simmering anger had morphed into full-fledged rage after his wife's tragic death. If the effervescent, energetic Anthony, Junior had mesmerized people, then the tragically stoic, grieving version practically enraptured them. Senior could clearly remember droves of relatives and friends constantly asking after the boy's feelings. Senior had always been a selfish man, and having a slip of a boy effortlessly command attention for which he himself had always had to struggle was an insult. How dare his son take away that which was his? _He_ was the grieving widower – wasn't his pain supposed to be the most important?

Well, two could play that game. And play they had, all of Junior's life. If Junior could take away Senior's rightful place as the center of Magdalena DiNozzo's world, then Senior could strip away everything that had once made Junior worthy of that attention.

After she died, any and all of her belongings had been carefully and systematically removed from the mansion. The baby grand piano that Senior had given her as a wedding present was the first thing to go. After all, _he_ had gifted her with this extravagance on their wedding day – wasn't that proof of his love? Didn't that mean that she should love _him_ the most? Sadly, no. When Junior had shown the same interest and talent for music that Magdalena had, she had been so excited. She instantly had him taking lessons and playing for all sorts of musicians. A prodigy, indeed. Well, once she was gone, Senior made sure that the prodigy would be no more. The piano had been removed from the house, along with sheet music, trophies, recordings, and anything else related to Junior's talents. In fact, Magdalena's music room was basically razed and converted into a library.

Never again was music heard in the DiNozzo mansion.

After that, he had systematically removed all pictures, clothes, books and belongings of his wife's, saving only those that mattered to him and destroying those that should have gone to her child. The boy had missed her other things, but he grieved the loss of her piano nearly as much as he suffered her death itself.

Senior could see how much the boy yearned to recapture his music, and sometimes a small, still voice deep inside would ask what on earth he was doing hurting his son just because he himself grieved. It would never fail, however, that someone, usually one of the staff who doted on the boy, would fawn over Junior in Senior's presence. The petty joy he felt at seeing his son hurt more than him squelched that quiet voice just as surely as bourbon numbed the grief. Senior knew that it wasn't a good coping strategy, but it worked for him. And, in the end, that was all that mattered.

When Senior had taken away Junior's music, Junior _still_ hadn't gotten the message and faded into the woodwork where he belonged. Instead, he had channeled those impossible reserves of energy and talent into other areas. He excelled in academics, had a way with the stable of horses Senior kept to impress guests, charmed everyone in his path and was a natural athlete.

All these gifts came directly from his mother – Anthony DiNozzo, Junior looked like his father, but in all other ways, he _was_ his mother. And this one thing was what DiNozzo, Senior hated most about his son. He wanted to be the favorite, a ridiculous notion for a father to have of his son, but a truth nevertheless.

Senior had been an average student, excelling only in the business classes discovered in college. He did not naturally 'have a way' with anyone, animal or person. He demanded attention, but he did not command it – a subtle difference perhaps, but a crucial one. People paid attention to Anthony DiNozzo, Senior because they had to. His power, money and prestige saw to it. But, he had to work for it. Every dime made, every takeover completed, every business transaction completed, ensured that people simply could not afford to _not _pay attention to him.

The opposite was true with his son; people paid attention to Anthony DiNozzo, Junior because it was physically impossible not to. He drew people in with his quick wit, easy smile and soulful eyes. People just liked him, period.

Senior hated that about his son, too.

In the grief and rage he felt over his beloved wife's death, it was all too easy for the things he hated about Junior to drown out any good and fatherly feelings he might have once had. And so, his desperate need to alleviate his own suffering slowly morphed into an uncontrollable need to hurt his son. Doing something, anything, to dim the brilliant light that was his child somehow made his own sad existence a little easier to bear. If everyone loved Junior so much, then he had to make sure that Junior would never know it. If people were proud of his accomplishments, then he needed to make sure that Junior believed nothing he did would ever be praise-worthy. If Junior showed intellect, then he needed to make sure that Junior felt he was really wasn't very bright. That he was worthless. Incompetent. Useless.

Forgettable.

It was ridiculously easy, if he ever chose to look back, to teach his son that he was unworthy of love and to distrust every bit of positive attention that might come his way. Denying his mother's legacy was only the beginning, though Senior knew that taking away his son's ability to create music was still the bitterest blow he had ever dealt.

Soon, Senior found himself denying any sort of affection and letting Junior know he was disappointed with his actions. No grade, no winning run, no victory big or small was ever enough for Senior. He mocked and scorned Junior's efforts at every chance, and it only took a very short time before the light began to dim.

That joyful exuberance and mesmerizing spirit, dampened but not extinguished by the shock of his mother's death, slowly faded away.

In his more whimsical, bourbon-aided moments, Senior fancied that Anthony Junior was a bright, golden sun being inexorably extinguished by the eclipse of his father's malice. What was left behind was a grayed-out version of a once-remarkable boy. That faded brilliance, damaged and dulled by cruelty and neglect, never returned. In fact, it only continued to fade further away, a sad reminder of a once-beautiful life.

DiNozzo, Senior still vividly remembered the moment that light was finally extinguished, burned out for good. It was the first time he ever took his emotional cruelty to the physical level. When Junior was ten years old, his father hit him for the first time. The first blow was unplanned and unprovoked. Fueled by bourbon and too many late nights with a string of beautiful women, DiNozzo had come home to find Junior curled in the gardener's lap, munching a cookie and listening to a story.

The gardener, for God's sake.

Did the boy have no concept of wealth? For some reason, the tiny DiNozzo heir tucked in the lap of a man hired to fertilize his lawn threw Senior into a fit. Banishing the help from his study, he proceeded to berate his son with every poorly-conceived criticism he could find. When Junior just stood there politely waiting out the storm, he felt a desperate need to hurt the boy in some new way if only to release his own tension. With little thought or plan, he let loose a fist, driving it straight into Junior's jaw. Outweighing his son by well over 100 pounds, the blow easily knocked him to the ground. Senior still remembered how much the impact hurt; his hand was sore and swollen for days. He also remembered the look in Junior's eyes as he slowly climbed to his feet, holding one hand over the blossoming bruise and one out in front of him, as if to ward off additional blows. He knew in that moment that he had won; Junior lost any last vestige of trust, of hope, of security, in that one instant. He was totally at his father's mercy.

Over the next few years, Senior occasionally resorted to physical violence, though he always preferred the more manipulative approach with his son. However, he made sure to use it enough that Junior was constantly on guard. In his darkest moments, Senior admitted to a small thrill each time Junior flinched from his raised hand.

My God, to have that much power over another human being was remarkable! He loved knowing that the focus of his son's entire world could pinpoint on his father's hands, watching them with the rapt attention Senior had always craved.

Finally, _finally_, here was something that he could control with absolute certainty. This was something that was _his_ and no one else's – his child, the light of everyone else's life, _feared_ Anthony DiNozzo, Senior. At last, the man who had never inspired genuine emotion in others had learned how to command attention, and command it he did at every opportunity.

And now, as he waited for Junior to catch up to him, Senior flashed with derision on his "conversation" with Special Agent Gibbs. He thought of the other man's comments on his son. _His_ son, though the way Gibbs talked, you would have been sure _he_ was the father. Well, DiNozzo Senior wasn't about to sever all ties with his son, and he sure as hell would not stand for another man taking that role. He needed Junior too much to let that happen. After all, Junior had inherited quite a substantial amount of money and property from his mother's estate. Why his son chose to hide that from his coworkers bewildered the senior DiNozzo. Why would anyone pass up the chance to flaunt wealth and power?

No matter the reasons though, Senior knew exactly how much his son was worth.

That's why he had oh-so-carefully constructed his current persona in his interactions with Junior's coworkers and with Junior himself. DiNozzo, Senior knew that he had to tread carefully here – while he was delighted to see that Junior still yearned for his approval, he also noted that this yearning had waned considerably in recent years. Damn Gibbs for trying to take that away from him! That would just not do.

Luckily, it appeared that Gibbs' interference had not paid off, for Junior had ultimately done exactly what Senior had planned. Trying to please his father came so naturally to Junior that it was so easy to manipulate him. And never let it be said that DiNozzo, Senior was not a master manipulator. When he had demanded information Junior offered it eagerly, as if expecting a reward. When Senior had snapped his fingers, Junior had fallen in line like the dutiful son Senior had so carefully crafted. Yes, it was good that he still held that sway over his child. Such power never failed to please him.

Forcing the unpleasant Agent Gibbs from his mind, Senior was brought back to the moment. In spite of the constant undercurrent of general irritation, anger and disappointment he felt during any contact with Junior, Senior still grinned when he saw him stride so purposefully across the hotel lobby.

Bingo.

He was not surprised when Junior accompanied him as he checked out; was even less surprised to see the envelope waiting for him. He supposed he should give Junior a point or two for getting the envelope there earlier, but really – any son of his should have known he would be able to read this set-up from a mile away. Pity the boy wasn't more like him.

He played the part beautifully, weaving hope, excitement and a subtle bit of disappointment at a lost opportunity into reading the note from 'Al.' When Junior noted - with a slight bit of awe, Senior recognized with relief – that Senior led a 'charmed life,' he simply smiled.

Knowing that he would have to give a scrap or two of parental satisfaction to keep Junior close, he steeled himself for a 'heart to heart' conversation. Mentally scrambling for something that might satisfy that requirement, he was surprised to find Gibbs' face flash briefly through his thoughts. _Damn the man_, he thought again. _If ever Junior were to break it off with me, that man could make him do it. _Senior knew he would have to pull out all the stops this time to keep Junior close enough to him that he could be exploited when needed. He knew that the time had finally come to play his ace in the hole, the one thing that would end this ridiculous tug-of-war Gibbs seemed to be trying to play.

Senior smirked to himself, for he knew that he could give Junior the one thing he wanted above all else. He was also fairly certain that Gibbs, a tough-as-nails, no-nonsense, gruff man, would probably never say the words that Junior wanted so desperately to hear. Luckily for Senior, he had no qualms. They were just words after all, hardly something that would make an impact on him in any way.

And so, he decided that if he was to say them, then he would say them with style. Summoning up what he hoped was a wistful and caring expression, he made what he assumed was appropriate 'father-son' small talk. Each phrase was stilted and more rehearsed than he would like, but damn if this wasn't harder than he thought! So many times had he derided Junior that he found it hard to dampen down his almost-instinctive casual cruelty.

He shook Junior's outstretched hand, and then steeling himself for an unexpected move, he hauled his son into a hug. He was surprised, with just a passing hint of guilt, to feel Junior flinch beneath his hands. He was more relieved to feel the awkward one-arm hug being returned.

Pulling back, he searched his son's eyes. Damn it, it still wasn't enough.

Taking a deep breath, he said them – the words he had withheld from his son for more than thirty years.

"I love you, Anthony." Not _Junior_, this time. No, he needed to pull out all the stops on this one. His poker buddies would have seen through the act fairly quickly, for his left eye twitched – a sure sign that he was bluffing. However, he was fairly sure it was the only thing that did not ring with fatherly sincerity.

He was further surprised at Junior's reaction to this proclamation – he had expected another hug, or at least proof that Junior was thrilled at this acknowledgement. Instead, the son instantly let his hand drop from his father's shoulder, almost as if being burned. He also saw, deep in those emerald eyes so like Magdalena's, a burning skepticism. Junior didn't believe him. This was worse than Senior thought.

Deciding that damage control would only make things worse, Senior let it lie. He knew his son well enough to know that he would stew over the words for days, analyzing them for truth; he could only hope that further thought would convince Junior of his sincerity. Deciding to offer benediction one final time, he poured all the truth and feeling he muster into saying it again.

"I love you."

With that, he walked away. He refused to look back, but he did pause at the door for a long moment, having caught Junior's reflection in the glass. He saw that his son was frozen in place, seemingly stunned by his father's actions.

Bingo, again.

That hesitation was all he needed – Junior had bought it, hook, line and sinker. Patting his pocket where 'Al's' ticket rested, he finally released a feral grin. Having gotten just what he had come for, namely a juicy chunk of Junior's money, he knew that he would return again. For more money, yes, but also to make sure the chain linking him to Junior stayed nice and strong. He would have to watch out for Agent Gibbs, but he was not overly concerned. After all, his son had finally gotten what he had spent a lifetime wanting. His father's love would be more than enough to keep Gibbs from staking a permanent toehold on Junior's emotions. Senior would make sure.

After all, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't the only one who understood masks. If Junior could wear the mask of a fool, then Senior could easily wear the mask of devoted-and-repentant-father.

Gibbs was the fool if he couldn't see where Junior has learned the art of perfecting illusions. Senior had donned a hundred different masks just in the last few days – debonair millionaire, charming flirt, caring father… the list went on.

Oh no, Anthony DiNozzo, Junior wasn't the master at manipulation; that honor certainly belonged to Anthony DiNozzo, Senior. He had manipulated Junior and his friends exactly as he intended, getting the results he had planned. Damn, he had gotten so much better at this over the years.

And if Gibbs thought Junior had some sort of talent in hiding his true self behind a mask, then Senior was glad to hear it. In fact, it gave him some twisted sort of pride that Junior had inherited this skill from him. It was one more link in the chain. After all, Junior was most definitely his father's son. Senior would be sure to keep it that way.

With that thought, Senior swept down the street to a waiting cab, already planning his visit to Monte Carlo.

Ah, yes. Life was good.

The End


End file.
